


I Fell For You

by iwritestuffsometimes



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Brief Alcohol References (side character), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied Consent, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, larry stylinson au, tw: alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritestuffsometimes/pseuds/iwritestuffsometimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t always been this way. Old-Louis had it all under control, he really did. Old-Louis would never be getting out of bed at 3AM because of a two-worded text message.</p><p>Especially not one from a boy.</p><p>//</p><p>OR Harry and Louis meet under some interesting circumstances involving public inebriation, nudity, and the scaling of WWII statues in said inebriated/nude state. Louis almost gets arrested, a spiderman kiss almost happens, and two boys fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii. This is my first fic so I'm still discovering this website and how it works. Turns out the text formatting interface and I hate each other. Next chapter will be posted soon, but meanwhile, I would so appreciate any tips, comments, or feedback. Thank you for reading!

\---

It hasn’t always been this way. Old-Louis had it all under control, he really did. Old-Louis would never be getting out of bed at 3AM because of a two-worded text message.

There are only 5 things he values more than his sleep and their names all end in “Tomlinson.” But here he is, frantically pushing back his covers and pulling on the closest pair of briefs he could find in the dark.

Liam and Zayn started actually refusing to enter his room months ago, claiming the “mess” was a tripping hazard, but Louis still refuses to call it that - he’s not messy, he just has a very _specific_ way of organizing his belongings. Besides, it can’t be classified as a mess if he knows where everything is, now can it? It’s a wonder, really, that he has managed to completely cover the floor of his tiny room (save for a semi-cleared path from the door to the bed) with his belongings in the 2 months since he moved into the cramped London flat with his two best mates, especially considering how few things he currently has to his name.

Louis pats around desperately for his car keys - he knows he left them in his coat pocket - but the damn bed attacks him and he ends up scrawled on the floor swimming in a pile of discarded clothing, breath knocked out of him, his stubbed toe throbbing painfully.

Old-Louis had it all under control. Old-Louis would never be getting out of bed at 3AM because of a two-worded text message. Especially not one from a boy.

\---

It happened two months ago. It was Louis’ first night in London, so, naturally, him and his boys celebrated by going out and drinking enough liquor to drown several small children. 

Zayn, of course, ended up going home with some shirtless Italian model with pecs that could singlehandedly bring about world peace - probably something to do with how “sexy” and “mysterious” he is (words that Louis stopped associating with Zayn after the fifth time he had watched him attempt to drunkenly piss a smiley face onto a very public sidewalk on a night out).  Somehow, Liam and Louis found themselves semi-nakedly scaling a very large and very slippery statue commemorating some war or another. 

“Leee-yuumm,” Louis whined from his spot on the statue, about 10 meters above Liam, “hurry up and get your giant teddy-bear arse up here, I’m getting cold.” Liam put in a valiant effort, but the combination of dirt-cheap whiskey and the sharp November wind landed him another 4 meters under Louis, ‘giant teddy-bear arse’ to the cold cobblestone street. 

Louis opened his mouth to laugh, but a stranger’s laugh - more like a cackle - on the previously very deserted street had him whipping his head around to find the source, convinced that he was about to either be handcuffed and ushered to the police station where he would spend the night in a very cold jail cell, or be attacked by some mass-murderous city maniac. 

Louis’ perimeter-sweep was rudely interrupted by the sound of a shutter and the sudden realization that the stranger/murderous-maniac/officer-of-the-law had taken a picture of him literally sat on some war hero’s face in only his briefs, with Liam on the cold cobblestone rubbing his sore bum like a disgruntled toddler.

“Excuse you,” Louis squeaked, as indignant as he could manage given his current… situation. “Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to take pictures of drunken, naked strangers?” 

It - he - continued to emit noises that Louis assumed were laughter but that really only tiny farm animals should make. 

He stepped closer, until he was directly under the only streetlamp illuminating the barren London street. “Oops,” the stranger offered with the hints of a coy smile making his cheeks dimple enough that Louis could see it from his vantage point 10 meters up a statue with some war hero’s nose currently up his arse. 

Right - Louis was 10 meters up, wearing only briefs, and his warm alcoholic buzz wasn’t doing much anymore to shield him from the November chill. Louis should get down. He willed his legs to move, or his mouth to at least form a witty retort, but he was stuck. The harsh fluorescent light hit the stranger like a spotlight, and fuck if Louis had ever seen anyone as beautiful as this strange boy (slash cop/murderer??). There was also the fact that Louis’ foot was stuck in this fucking war hero’s elbow crevice or something. Right, Liam. 

“Um, Li?” he mumbled, liquor-fueled courage fading to make way for the familiar flush of embarrassed heat crawling up his neck. “Some help perhaps?” Liam, still on his arse with a frown that would put the grumpiest toddler to shame, looked up at Louis. 

“No way, man.” 

“I’m sorry?” Louis squeaked. 

“I’m not helping you,” Liam replied smugly. “Race you home,” the smug shit sing-songed as he sprung up to his feet, grabbed both his pile of discarded clothes and Louis’, and positively pranced away into the night.

Louis, too cold, drunk, and stuck to do anything about it, practiced his meditative breathing to avoid self-amputating his traitorous foot, leaping to the ground from 10 meters above it, chasing Liam, and shoving his foot so far up his arse that it would come out of his mouth and kick him in the face. 

His eyes sprung open as someone cleared their throat. The stranger - Louis had forgotten about the stranger. 

“Oh,” Louis said, smartly. “Erm, some help, perhaps?” 

The stranger paused to consider the plea. 

“It’s not often that I get to rescue damsels in distress,” he crooned, in a voice about ten octaves lower than Louis was ready for, and yeah, ok, wow, is it normal for someone’s voice to sound like actual pure sex? Louis was definitely too drunk. 

“M’not a damsel in distress,” he slurred back, “don’t need your ‘elp.” 

But his body disagreed, and he found himself slipping off the statue, grasping at thin air, and before he knew it, he was suspended, upside-down, in mid-air, foot firmly stuck in the stupid statue. 

If Louis could find the will to care, he would be incredibly ashamed, but, once he realized he wasn’t going to die, and finally cracked his eyes open, Louis found himself face-to-face with the strange stranger, and all pretense was out the window. 

The stranger blinked, slowly. “Hi,” Louis said, with as much confidence as he could gather. 

“Hi, Spiderman,” the stranger replied in his sugary-slow voice. He took a step closer to Louis, so that Louis could feel his minty breath on his over-heated face, on his exposed neck. 

“Hi,” he whispered, air apparently completely lacking in presence from his lungs - because he was suspended from a fucking statue, he told himself. Not because of the beautiful, weird thing in front of him, definitely not because of the beautiful weird thing in front of him. He is Louis fucking Tomlinson, dammit, and Louis fucking Tomlinson doesn’t get flustered because of beautiful people, especially not beautiful weird boys. 

“You already said that,” the stranger stage-whispered back, as he got impossibly closer, interrupting Louis' frantic inner monologue. Louis’ eyes fluttered shut as the boy’s minty breath danced over his lips. 

His eyes flew open as he felt the boy firmly grip his shoulders and somehow maneuver him out of his predicament with unexpected strength. 

“Nghngh!” he flailed gracelessly, and soon found himself crashing down to the cold ground, the stranger - that he was most definitely not just centimeters away from kissing - cushioning his fall with a grunted “oof.”

Louis propped himself up on his arms, bracketing the weird boy under him, ready to mumble out a rushed string of apologies and run home to take up permanent residence under his blankets, where evil statues and cold concrete don’t exist. 

He looked down at the strange boy, his wild curls framing his pale face and closed eyes. Oh fuck, is he even conscious? Louis placed his small hand on the stranger’s chest and pushed slightly. 

“‘Ello?” He tried again. 

The stranger finally stirred, groaning and wiggling slightly under Louis, presumably trying to stretch his body out after the fall - his solid, soft body that, holy shit, felt so good under Louis. 

Wait, what? Louis rushed to banish these thoughts from his mind as he wildly scrambled off the poor stranger he had essentially attacked, but the stranger curled up into him as his hands shot up to grasp Louis’ hips, holding him still. “Don’t. Move,” the stranger gritted out. “Your knee. Balls,” he gritted out, and, oh. 

Louis stilled his body. He could feel the boy’s body exuding heat under him, where he was straddling him, and his fingers stayed gripping his hips so hard he was sure he'd have bruises the next day. 

The boy experimentally moved his body ever so slightly under Louis, trying to make the pain subside. His belt loop grazed Louis’ bum through the flimsy material of his briefs, and Louis bit his tongue to suppress a groan. The smaller boy was thankful for the freezing temperatures coupled with his lack of clothing, because if his dick wasn’t currently making its retreat into his body, he would have much bigger problems to worry about - like being on top of an unsuspecting stranger that he had just kneed in the balls _with a hard on_.

The stranger’s fast, pained breaths were soon replaced once again by the eery silence of bare London streets. “Is that always how you repay dashing princes for rescuing you?” the stranger said in a whisper, voice still too loud for the quiet night. 

He was alive. 

Good. 

He undid his vice-like grip on Louis’ hips as he spoke, visibly relaxing, as he brushed his hands down Louis thighs on either side of him. Louis’ hips twitched at the sensation, and he let out a sharp breath as he mumbled “thankyouforcatchingmei’mgonnagohomenow.” He used his arms to push his body off the stranger’s and stood upright, already planning his revenge on Liam as he walked briskly away from the strange boy who cushioned his fall, ready to walk away from this strange turn of events with only a killer hangover, fingertip bruises on his hips, and his cheeks permanently tinged red from embarrassment.

“Wait.” He felt a hand grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Harry. My name is Harry,” the boy said. 

Louis turned around, not pleased to see that, from their positions standing up, he had to crane his neck up to look at the boy - Harry - even when he was stood pigeon-toed, knees almost knocking into each other, like his body was a few sizes too big. 

“Oh,” Louis provided, ever so eloquently. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?” the boy questioned, still holding on to Louis’ arm. 

“Louis. I’m Louis.”

“Louis,” the taller boy repeated, his slow, deep drawl making the name sound like he was swishing expensive wine around his mouth. “How exactly are you planning on getting home?”

“Oh. Um… The tube. I’m taking the tube,” Louis responded, proud of himself for forming a semi-complete, semi-coherent sentence for the first time that night.

“Tube’s closed.” Oh.

“I’ll walk.”

“Don’t know if you noticed, but you’re naked.”

Louis looked down at himself dumbly. “Right. Forgot.”

“Here,” the boy - Harry - said as he shrugged off his coat and draped it on the smaller boy. The coat - that came down to Harry’s mid-thigh - engulfed Louis, hanging down to his numb, red knees.

“Won’t you be cold?” Louis asked.

“I’ll be alright,” Harry winked, the damn dimples making a brief cameo. “Where do you live?”

“Edge of the city, by the river.”

“I’m not far, I’ll walk you.”

\---

And that’s how Louis ended up watching the sunrise from his front steps with Harry, wrapped in the stranger’s coat and, eventually, his arm - Harry claimed Louis’ teeth were “chattering so hard they’re making _my_ teeth retreat into _my_ gums,” so, it was strictly out of necessity… basic survival, really. 

That’s also how Louis ended up where he is now, two months later, essentially making a fucking snow angel in a pile of his own unwashed clothes at three o’clock in the morning. 

He stands up on an annoyed “hmph,” throws on joggers and his only clean t-shirt - one with a scoop-neck that’s maybe a tad too dramatic, but Louis doesn’t hate it - and makes his way to the door. He takes the steps down two at a time, and all but unhinges the front door in his battle to leave the building. He feels the cold air hit his overly-exposed chest and immediately regrets not wearing a coat, but he jogs the 10 meters to his car. He gets in and takes a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a tip, comment, or some feedback if you have any! Thank you for reading xx


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of alcoholism.  
> Mention of sex & sex toys (not Larry). vvvvv mildly nsfw.

\---

Louis didn’t know how to respond to Harry’s 3AM text message. “Come please.” 

It’s not that they haven’t been texting - they texted enough to probably exceed the word count on the fucking Bible, and that’s just within just one week of their strange meeting. But Harry never texted him like this. It was always late-night philosophical ramblings, to musings on morning cereal and everything in between, never two-worded requests with no banana emojis or at least six “x”s. Just two words. 

After watching that sunrise on Louis’ front steps, the boys became inseparable. Louis, sobering up, Harry’s arm around him “for warmth,” gathered the courage to ask the younger boy for his phone number before they parted ways, whispered it so small, afraid his too-loud voice would ruin a moment that felt like it was so delicately stitched together with the finest of threads. 

Harry, eyes droopy with sleep, saved his number in Louis’ phone as “H” before walking off with a flash of his infuriating dimples, stretching his arms up above his head, squinting against the rising morning sun. 

Louis tried waiting at least a day to text him, he really did, but the boy isn’t a fucking saint - for fuck’s sake, most days he can barely wait until his stream of urine has stopped to step away from the urinal.  Needless to say, Louis’ strong point has never been and will never be his patience. 

He made it two hours (Two hours of tossing and turning in bed trying to get his mind off his phone. Two hours of giving up on sleep altogether and trying to distract himself with shit telly. Two hours of frustratedly throwing the TV controller to the far end of the couch and trying to go on a therapeutic run. Two hours of realizing that he does not have the stamina to run further than 10 meters and resigning himself to a cold shower. Two hours of stroking himself to maybe the best orgasm of his life in said cold shower and still not being able to get the stranger off his mind).

“Guess who?” he sent the boy. Harry’s response, thankfully, came almost instantaneously (Louis doesn’t think he could have survived having to wait for more than the seven seconds it took him to text back); “Michael?”

“Who the fuck is Michael?”

“Hii Louis,” Harry sent back with that silly emoji of the monkey with its hands on its mouth followed by a banana.

The cheeky fuck.

“Idiot. Why are you still up?” Louis tensed up after hitting the send button, nervous that he had misread Harry’s friendly playfulness the night before, had been too drunk on cheap whisky or the pretty boy’s attention. Oh god, would Harry get offended that he called him an idiot? He mentally kicked himself for having virtually no brain-to-mouth filter, no wonder he only had two friends; he called people idiots after only knowing them for, what, less than 6 hours? Louis’ self-deprecating inner monologue/lecture was interrupted by a text notification:

“Oi, m’not the one who fell off a WWII statue onto a stranger naked”

Louis exhaled a surprised squeak.

“And had to go to work :(“

“Was not naked! And work at 5AM on a Sunday??!”

“I work at a bakery!” Harry replied, with an explosion of baking/pastry-related emojis and then a bunch of not-so-related ones too.

They texted until Louis passed out, phone in hand, with the early sun warming his body. 

\---

He woke to a loud crashing sound in the room next to his. Louis sat up, ears alert for any intruders he might have to chase out of his flat wielding the most threatening object he could find within an arm-span radius of his location sprawled on his bed, which, in this moment, happened to be a giant sparkly purple dildo Zayn had given him as a gag gift when he came out at, like, age 18. And seriously, fuck Zayn, because why couldn’t he have given him something that would be a little more _useful_ in a home break-in situation, like a congratulations-on-coming-out _sword_ , or _baseball bat_. If he got kidnapped, he was definitely blaming Zayn.

Louis threw the dildo to the corner of his bed with an annoyed grunt and quietly tiptoed to the wall opposite his bed, where the sound had come from. As soon as he pressed his ear to the wall, he heard a shriek. He jumped at least a solid meter in the air and braced himself to make a run for it. But then… “harder!” What the fuck? He pressed his ear to the wall again and this time, instead of a shriek, he heard something that was definitely a moan, and, was that Zayn’s voice? Louis’ face immediately crumpled in disgust as he defeatedly slid down the wall to land on his arse, head turned up in a silent plea to the gods above to end whatever freaky kink-fest Zayn was having with his Italian model in the next room.

Louis got up, definitely feeling the after-effects of the night before’s festivities in the soreness of his legs and swoop of his stomach, and threw himself face-first onto his bed, sandwiching his head between the unwashed duvet and a pillow in an effort to drown out the sex noises. He pulled his phone from under his blankets and saw he had a text from Harry.

“Come visit me!! I’ll give you free cookieeesss” followed by even more emojis.

“Yes. Hi. Sorry” Louis rushed out, hoping Harry hadn’t thought Louis was ignoring his text.

“Fell asleep. Woke up to roommate having freaky sex-fest. Cookie sounds amazing. So does being far from my sexually deviant roommate. Where do I go?”

Louis was out the door as soon as Harry texted him the address, with a couple of smiley faces tacked on for good measure.

\---

Louis ended up somehow sticking around the bakery for 4 hours. Harry’s boss - who Louis learned, like every other person who worked in or entered the bakery, was an adorable 70-something year old woman - wasn’t working that day, so Harry had snuck him into the kitchen to help. And help is precisely what Louis did - for the first 20 minutes, before he started tossing flour, sugar, and any food he could get his hands on onto Harry, and icing elaborately decorative penises onto cupcakes. By the time Harry had to close the bakery up for the night, every surface was covered with flour, and Harry looked like a giant cupcake with all the sprinkles and glitter adorning his curls. Louis was quite proud of his accomplishments.

Harry stood from his place at the register, where he had been counting the day’s earnings after having sent the other two employees, Muriel and Esther (the names... seriously??), home with boxes of left-over cupcakes topped with penis-shaped icing that he had tried to salvage into flowers. 

He glared at Louis with as much authority as he could muster, given that he knew he currently resembled a giant cupcake. Harry cleared his throat seriously and Louis struggled to stifle a giggle from where he sat cross-legged on the flour-covered counter. 

“You, mister,” Harry attempted, forcing his voice to go gruff to at least seem a little threatening, “have made a bloody mess,” he said, half-swaggering over to Louis on his tired legs while waggling his finger in the air. Louis burst into a fit of giggles at that. 

“H, you look like a drunk toddler/Captain Jack Sparrow/cupcake hybrid.” 

But Harry didn’t stop in his path, he continued creeping over to Louis’ counter, muttering seriously “whatever are we going to do with you,” only now Louis was shrieking because Harry’s frown had turned into an evil glare with wildly sparking eyes, and his one waggling finger had turned into _ten_ waggling fingers coming to tickle him. 

Louis scrambled to jump off the counter, but Harry was there before he could move, pinning him between himself and the wall, and tickling him mercilessly, while Louis wildly flung his limbs, knocking little tins of sprinkles off the counter he had rightfully claimed as his throne. By some stroke of luck, Harry’s gangly limbs managed to get tangled in the fiasco, making him lose his balance for a split second. Louis seized the opportunity, wrapping his legs around the taller boy’s body to hold him in place, and squeezing and poking his little love handles until Harry, breathless and crying tiny little laughing tears, was screaming “mercy! mercy!”

Louis relented his attacks, both boys breathing heavily, pressed close together, for the second time since Harry had so valiantly rescued Louis from the evil statue the night before. Louis knew he should be doing something, like unwrapping his legs from around Harry’s small hips, where his pants were starting to feel a little tight, or backing up, getting far away. He knew he should put his walls back up, not be so vulnerable and open for the taking, and there was something in the back of his mind that was going off, trying to remind him, but he could not decode the little alarmed pings his brain was firing for the life of him, because this boy was right here, in front of him, touching his body in so many places, making his body tingle in every place he wasn’t touching, and his breath smelled of mint and summer fruits and kisses, and they were breathing the same air, and the air must have had something in it because he was leaning impossibly closer. 

Louis could feel Harry’s muscles strain under his legs to get his body closer, closer, always closer, could feel Harry’s breath warm on his lips, and he knew he should do something but he felt like he was underwater. 

Harry moved even closer and their lips brushed. 

Louis felt it in every part of his body and some parts of his soul, like an electrical current that jolted him out of his reverie, and suddenly he remembered everything, from how to make his limbs move, to why he does not kiss pretty boys. 

He jerked back, away from Harry, hitting his head on the wall behind him. He let out a surprise yelp, and Harry jumped, giving Louis the chance to untangle their bodies and hop off the counter. 

Harry - Louis noted from a safe distance of two meters away from the boy - looked like a kicked puppy. A sad, confused, kicked puppy with sprinkles in his hair, glitter where his dimples belonged, and icing smudged on the corner of his obscenely red-bitten lips. 

Louis put his hands up between them, defensively, “Harry, I…” But Harry started, “I’m sorry, I-I-I… I’m…” They were both at a loss for words. But the way Harry was looking at Louis, big eyes, and corners of his sinful mouth downturned in a frown, was slowly making Louis forget why he didn’t kiss pretty boys. He wanted to kiss that frown off his face, leave little kisses by his ears, on the tip of his nose, on the curve of his perfect jaw until his perfect dimples came back so Louis could kiss them too. He opened his mouth and stepped forward. He didn’t have a plan, but doing nothing felt wrong, and whatever his body was about to do without the permission of his brain, that felt so, so right.

“Let’s, um, let’s clean up,” Harry said abruptly, a little too loud, clearing his throat in the tense silence, and walked away, leaving Louis standing there, mouth hanging open, hands stretched out.

Harry came back, one broom in each hand, with a hopeful little lopsided smile on his face that said “I hope I didn’t fuck up,” “I hope we can still be friends,” but sad eyes that spoke very different truths. Louis accepted the broom, held out like an olive branch, and they spent the evening tidying the bakery in companionable silence. 

If Harry caught Louis staring a few times too many, he didn’t say anything.

\---

After that, the boys became practically inseparable. Harry always had Louis’ crinkly smile and mischievous antics to brighten up his lunch breaks on long shifts at the bakery, and Louis always had an oversized, cuddly Harry whose arse to kick at FIFA (and, somehow, Louis’ flat always looked a little neater after he left, but he never complained). 

Now it’s been two months since that night at the bakery, and Louis hasn’t slipped. In fact, they haven’t even talked about the kiss - or almost kiss, and Louis, in his fucked up little mind considers it a success. 

He knows he’s fucked up, but at least he owns it; at least he knows better than to get involved with someone he cares about, to - God forbid - let someone care about him. Because he’s seen what it’s like to care for someone, and it’s ugly, and it hurts. 

He’s the one who helped his mum pick up the pieces after his dad - though he’s long lost the right to that title - left. 

He’s the one who, at 12 years old, took the bottle of wine out of her hand in the morning, when it hung over the side of the couch after a night of her crying quietly into it so the kids wouldn’t wake. 

He’s the one who tucked her in; who had to learn to turn her on her side after she woke up in a puddle of her own sick a few times too many; who cared for his sisters, too young to understand; made sure they always had a ride to school, food in their mouths, and a smile on their face. 

And he never wants to see anyone hurt like that again. It sickens him to think about even having the power to make someone feels that way. So really it’s better for everyone if he doesn’t let himself care, doesn’t let anyone care for him. That’s what he keeps reminding himself, but Harry makes it easier and easier to forget.

It’s two months since Louis fell out of a statue naked onto a beautiful stranger - onto Harry. It’s two months since a beautiful Harry almost kissed him and Louis is 3AM-messy-hair-pedal-to-the-floor gunning it to the boy’s flat over a two-worded text message. It’s two months since Louis promised himself he’d never fall in love with Harry or let Harry fall in love with him, and he can say with one hundred percent certainty that he’s kept at least half of those promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave comments or feedback! xx


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of alcoholism & past trauma.  
> Boys kissing.

\---

He turns a corner onto Harry’s street and he’s trying, he’s really trying to slow his mind down, to talk himself off of the precarious cliff he’s managed to mentally walk himself onto, this looming, chest-crushing avalanche of “what if”s. And all over a two-worded text. 

Harry hadn’t responded to Louis’ messages asking if he was alright, followed by about ten more of Louis’ increasingly frantic messages pleading for an explanation, for an “I’m ok,” and Louis’ mind was reeling. His mind was reeling because Harry was sweet and polite to a fault; he would never ask Louis for anything without preceding it with at least three paragraphs of apologies and explanations. His mind was reeling because Harry was not like Louis; he had not been hardened by a lifetime of disappointment, he didn’t know how much love hurt. 

But the thing that really has Louis’ heart beating out of his chest, his pulse hammering at temples like a drum, is that he is so fucking gone for the boy.

How could he not have known? He was gone for Harry since the moment he saw his face under that streetlamp; not even the severe inebriation or lack of clothing on his part could get in the way. He never stood a chance. And now his organs are shifting around to make room for his heart - that he is pretty certain is making its way down his digestive tract as he is driving down the street - because it is breaking over “what if”s, over a two-worded text. 

That a two-worded text can make him feel this way is what terrifies him. And that he has even the slightest sliver of hope that Harry might feel the same is just cruel.

Louis pushes it all down. That’s one thing he got really good at doing after his father left. He knows that caring too much is no good to anyone. If he had let himself care, let himself feel, he never would’ve made it out alive. The first couple of times his mum looked for answers in the bottom of a bottle of wine, he sat right there and cried with her. But then he learned to push it down, to put on a face and make sure everyone was fed and happy, and that everything was running smoothly. Soon, he was completely free of those emotions that held him down, that got in the way. He was on auto-pilot and, to be honest, he doesn’t think that changed after he moved out and started anew in London. 

If he failed - if Louis fell for Harry - he at least owes it to him to push that down too, so he parks his car, takes a deep breath, and pushes it down, like he has done so many times before. 

He’s floating, face blank, breathing controlled, and before he knows it he is at Harry’s doorstep. He rings the doorbell. No answer. He rings again. Nothing. Louis lifts the corner of the doormat, sticks the hidden spare key in the doorknob, and makes his way up the stairs to Harry’s flat. No room for panic, no room for emotion - just efficiency; safe, calculated efficiency. 

The door is open, so he walks in.

Louis has to walk around the whole flat - albeit tiny - twice before he finds Harry, sat in the nook between his cupboard and the wall, knees pulled into his chest, letting out little whimpers and gently rocking his curled up body back and forth, and he looks so small.

“Harry,” Louis calls, urging his voice to come out stronger than a whisper. 

Harry’s head snaps up, his eyes red-rimmed and a deeper, a more devastating green than they have ever been, like the deepest bottom of the sea during a storm. His hands clutch a bottle of wine to his chest like it’ll keep him afloat. 

“Louis,” he croaks, his voice just as broken and small as he looks. Louis looks at Harry and he sees himself, on the first night his father left, only 12 years old and crying, broken, like he would never - could never - be fixed, would always be fragments, held together by unsticky strips of scotch tape. He looks at Harry and wants to kill whoever has made him feel that way. But he pushes it down.

Wordlessly, Louis leans down to crouch beside Harry. He places his arm around the boy and feels the sobs wracking his body, vibrating against his weak bones. He lifts him off the ground with one big push and feels the boy lean heavily on his body.

“Fuck, H, how much did you drink…” Harry drops the bottle of wine, a small red stain blooming on the carpet underneath. The bottle is empty. “Harry…”

“No. N-no, Lou-is,” Harry stammers. “Shutup and l- and listen to me.” He tries to push Louis away weakly, presumably to make him sit on the bed, but he sways dangerously and Louis reaches out to grab him around the waist again.

“No!” Harry yells this time, pushing Louis away, his voice a low, loud growl. Louis’ knees buckle - half from the impact of hitting the bed behind him, half from shock - and he falls back until he’s sitting on the bed, stunned. 

Louis has never seen him like this, never seen him be anything other than gentle. Harry has never pushed Louis away like this, and fuck it hurts. Louis tries to push it down, but it’s getting harder to push things down past the knot growing in his throat. Louis is failing. Louis is completely out of his depths, and Harry is drowning, and Louis is breaking, and he can't keep Harry together. 

He gathers up everything he has left and channels it into sitting on the bed, despite the fact that his body is screaming to touch Harry - to wipe the tears away from his dimpled cheeks with his thumb, to melt the tension away from his shoulders with his warm hands. He looks up at the boy, stunned, and says so quietly you’d never suspect he was breaking: “Ok H. Ok. I’m listening.”

At that, Harry looks at Louis through his damp lashes, harsh fluorescent light hitting his face like the first night they met only serving to highlight every sad crinkle, deep line, that shouldn’t be on Harry’s face, and Louis’ heart drops that much further. Louis put those lines there, and for a second he forgets what the boy’s dimples look like. 

He would do anything to bring them back.

Harry is looking right into Louis’ eyes, unwavering storm-green to barely-restrained ocean blue, and, for a second, Louis thinks he sees something change in them. For a moment, he puts himself back together, thinks “maybe.” But before he can read him, Harry turns around and walks away. 

Louis knows he deserves this, whatever it is he did, he deserves this. He never deserved someone like Harry, someone as open and loving and giving as Harry - not for someone as broken as Louis. Louis is gone for Harry - the boy has broken him into a million pieces but he’s never felt more whole. But Harry is better off without him, he still has a chance, he can make it out without breaking. If Harry walks away now, he’ll be ok, and that’s all that Louis wants - for Harry to be okay; for Harry to never know what it feels like to break.

Louis hears a click and his head snaps up from where it had fallen, hung like a white flag between his slouched shoulders. Harry has closed the door, and is stood facing the shut door. Louis wants to see his face, needs to see his face to read him. Why is he stopping? Louis screams in his head for Harry to go, to go far away; Louis is broken but Harry doesn’t need to be - shouldn’t be. But Harry is turning around. He faces Louis and it takes everything Louis’ got not to close the two steps between them and shake Harry until he realizes that Louis’ no good for him. But he stays on the bed, and Harry is walking toward him, and their eyes meet, and Louis couldn’t move if he wanted to. Harry’s eyes, that looked so lost, that looked like drowning, are set, bright green with edges like a stone. Harry’s so close to Louis that Louis has to crane his neck up to look at the boy, who’s face is a blank page, eyes stones.

They breathe in, and breathe out.

All of a sudden, something in Harry snaps. His hands are flying out to grip Louis’ face, and his red lips that he has bitten raw are crashing down onto Louis’, and he can’t breathe, and it’s frantic, and it’s messy. Something in Louis snaps too. Every tiny measure of control he has built into a wall comes crashing down, and he can’t breathe, and it’s frantic, and it’s messy,  _ and it’s the most honest thing Louis has ever felt. _

Louis pulls away, eyes wide, gasping for air, and Harry collapses on his knees in front of him, like Louis’ lips were the only thing holding him upright. “Harry,” he breathes out, and his voice is wrecked. There are so many things running through his head that it feels empty, deafeningly empty. “Harry,” he starts again. “You’re not - the wine - it’s not… you’re drunk,” he manages. “I don’t…”

“No,” Harry interrupts again, but so very softly this time. He’s a different person than he was just a minute ago and Louis, again, is about ten chapters behind. He can still feel him shouting the word at him, can still feel the force of his hands pushing Louis away, can still feel a tingle where his lips crashed into his, and he’s drowning, kicking, frantically, swimming to the surface only to find he has no idea which way is up.

Harry’s hands are around Louis’ face again, soft this time, pleading Louis to lift his eyes to his. Louis doesn’t know what he’ll see in his eyes this time, but he complies, doesn’t have the strength not to, and Harry’s is looking at him with so much affection, promise, and openness that he feels naked, feels like Harry knows everything - _is_ everything. “I love you Louis.”

Louis freezes.

“Have loved you since I first saw you, smashed and half-naked on that stupid statue.” And he says it so calmly, so simply, that Louis almost believes him. Louis closes his eyes, because he knows they’re saying things without his permission, “I love you more than you know,” and “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone,” and “I love you more than myself,” and “I don’t think I’ll exist without you,” and he needs to let Harry go while he still can. Needs to give beautiful, innocent, loving Harry what he deserves and disappear from his life.

He breathes in, and breathes out. He opens his eyes. “Harry,” he says, and fuck, he wishes he didn’t sound so small, so defeated. He needs Harry to believe him more than anything. “You’re drunk, Harry, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t love me - you-you can’t love me - you’ll… it’s… I’ll hurt you Harry,” he whispers, voice breaking. He uses his arms to push himself off the bed “I have to go…”

Louis stands on wobbly legs, hopes they’ll at least take him somewhere far from Harry, where Harry will be safe and Louis can collapse in a pile. He makes for the door, emotions pushed down yet so very close to the surface, body working on auto-pilot. He stops moving. He looks back. Harry’s hand is around his arm, gripping it firmly but gently. Louis stares at his hand, mentally willing it to let go but terrified to open his mouth to say anything, afraid he’ll just laugh, or cry, or both, because it’s just like that cold night two months ago in the middle of a street, in the middle of London, in the middle of the night, with Harry’s hand around his arm, then his coat around his shoulders, then a Harry in his life, and now… this.

But Harry’s hand doesn’t move, his grip doesn’t loosen, and Louis looks up, thinks that if he can look at Harry with eyes cold enough, sharp enough, that maybe Harry will let go, see that Louis is bad for him, see why Louis doesn’t kiss pretty boys, see why he shouldn't fall for Louis like Louis fell for him, because Louis fell fucking hard. 

When he looks up, though, all he sees is love, trust, and a kind of openness that Louis was a stranger to until he met this stupid, naive, beautiful incredible boy who gives strangers the coins he finds on the street because “they need the luck more than I do,” and he thinks he has never felt more at home.

“Louis, I love you,” Harry says again, gentler even. “I love you, you fucking idiot,” he tries again. His voice is growing louder, more confident with every word. “The only thing that would hurt me is not having you in my life. I know you’ve been hurt, and I know it’s hard for you to trust that love can be good, but trust _me_. You’re more of a home to me than any place I’ve ever been. I feel _strong_ when I’m with you, stronger than I’ve ever felt. Tell me how this can be wrong, Lou. I don’t believe this can be wrong.”

Harry hesitantly takes a step closer to Louis. Louis doesn’t move. Harry looks down.

“Lou, I want to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, I think, but I-I… I don’t think I can handle you pushing me away again.” The last part is a whisper.

Harry’s hopeful eyes are red-rimmed, tears leaving tiny trails from his long lashes down porcelain skin. His cheeks are flushed and nose pink, his breathing is ragged, and he’s the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen.

“Ok,” Louis says.

“Ok?” Harry sputters, a wild, incredulous laugh leaving his pink lips.

“I trust you,” Louis says, calmly. Because he doesn’t believe that love can be good, hasn’t seen love be good, but he believes Harry can be good, has _seen_ him be good - better than anyone he's ever known -, and it’s _that_ simple.

This time, Louis takes a step closer, and he’s right in front of Harry. He reaches on his tippy toes and their noses are touching. He puts one hand on Harry’s cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb, and the other on Harry’s chest, grounding himself in the boy in front of him, who is laying himself out for the taking, baring his heart and trusting Louis won’t break him, and Louis needs to breathe. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he’s drowning in green. He’s drowning but has never felt more present, more grounded, more _right_. He closes the space between them, and finally, they are kissing. It’s tender, and soft, and slow, and Louis’ not sure when he started crying too, but they’re both smiling into each others’ lips, and he knows Harry can taste the salt of their tears too.

The boys pull back, smiling too big for their lips to be of any use.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers into Louis lips.

Louis quirks his eyebrow up fondly, a bit beyond words and hoping he’ll get his silent question across without them.

“For trusting me,” Harry answers. “I know it goes against everything you’ve known, but thank you. For, you know... For giving me the chance to prove you wrong.”

And he didn’t think it was possible, but Louis falls even more in love with the boy in front of him. The boy who came into his life from nowhere and built himself a home right in Louis’ heart. The boy who is standing in front of Louis - broken, defective, fucked up Louis -, trusting him with his heart, trusting that he won’t break him, and _thanking_ him for it, looking at him like he hung the stars. Does he know that Louis would go anywhere, do anything for him, give him every last thing he’s got? Does he know he loves him? Is _in_ love with him?

“I’d give you my last nacho,” is what comes out of Louis’ mouth. His face immediately scrunches in half-mortification half-annoyance, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. Harry has the audacity to actually open his mouth in a surprised cackle, and _there_ are those dimples. It’s a true testament, Louis thinks, to just how hard he’s fallen for the boy that he doesn’t even _try_ to shut him up with a slap to the balls or a witty retort.

“I love you.” At that, Harry goes completely silent.

“Is what I meant to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments & feedback!  
> Next chapter will contain ~*smut*~, happy birthday!!!!  
> xx


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT  
> A lot of smut.  
> Oooops.

\---

_ The boys pull back, smiling too big for their lips to be of any use. _

_ “Thank you,” Harry whispers into Louis lips. _

_ Louis quirks his eyebrow up fondly, a bit beyond words and hoping he’ll get his silent question across without them. _

_ “For trusting me,” Harry answers. “I know it goes against everything you’ve known, but thank you. For, you know... For giving me the chance to prove you wrong.” _

_ And he didn’t think it was possible, but Louis falls even more in love with the boy in front of him. The boy who came into his life from nowhere and built himself a home right in Louis’ heart. The boy who is standing in front of Louis - broken, defective, fucked up Louis -, trusting him with his heart, trusting that he won’t break him, and thanking him for it, looking at him like he hung the stars. Does he know that Louis would go anywhere, do anything for him, give him every last thing he’s got? Does he know he loves him? Is in love with him? _

_ “I’d give you my last nacho,” is what comes out of Louis’ mouth. His face immediately scrunches in half-mortification half-annoyance, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. Harry has the audacity to actually open his mouth in a surprised cackle, and there are those dimples. It’s a true testament, Louis thinks, to just how hard he’s fallen for the boy that he doesn’t even try to shut him up with a slap to the balls or a witty retort. _

_ “I love you.” At that, Harry goes completely silent. _

_ “Is what I meant to say.” _

\---

But Harry’s mouth is on his before he can get an explanation in, and wow, ok, yeah, he really doesn’t mind, this is a very, very good idea, very ok, yes.

Louis is wondering why they ever stopped kissing when Harry’s tongue teases at his lips. Louis gladly parts them to deepen the kiss. The initial sense of relief that it’s mutual - that’s it’s ok, that they’re ok - is starting to make way for a deeper sense of urgency between them, and, before long, the soft, tender kisses - punctuated by Harry kissing the tip of Louis’ nose and Louis kissing his little dimples in return - are replaced with teeth, tongue, and hands, grasping, nipping, pulling at anything they can get to. 

Harry bites Louis’ lower lip, pulling it between his teeth. Before he has a chance to soothe Louis’ lip with a little kitten kiss, Louis is pushing him backwards. Louis is crowding his space before they even hit the door, hands scrambling at Harry’s shirt, and legs slotting between his. Harry groans softly at the impact and his head falls back against the door with a thump that has him groaning even deeper. 

Louis’ hands seem to be everywhere at once, tugging at his hair, scratching lightly down his back, squeezing his little bum, all while his body pins Harry firmly against the door. 

Louis is humming contentedly into Harry’s mouth, and the boy is letting out these tiny little sounds that are driving Louis crazy. He tugs on his hair a little harder and Harry’s head falls back, baring his neck. Louis can’t decide where to kiss him - he wants to kiss him everywhere - so he settles for trailing his lips down to the boy’s jaw, leaving light little feather kisses down his neck to his collarbones, and he can feel Harry trembling under him, unconsciously grinding up against Louis. He sinks his teeth into the flesh of Harry’s neck and Harry’s knees buck a little as he lets out a muffled moan, and breathes out a whispered “fuck.”

Harry’s hands fly up to Louis’ hips, fingers digging into the sensitive skin, like the first night they met - only, back then, it was because drunk, flustered Louis had unintentionally kneed him in the balls. 

In one swift movement, Harry pushes his body off the door, spins Louis around, and pushes him into it with a growl from Harry, and a surprised grunt from Louis, who’s now pinned up against the door, Harry’s fingers bruising little fingertip marks on his hips. Harry’s lips are on his again, more demanding than before, kissing with a little more urgency, a little more heat, and his hands are scrambling at the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Off,” Harry growls, clearly displeased he had to take his lips off of Louis’ for even a second.

Louis’ mind is reeling. He wants Harry - has wanted Harry - more than anything, wants Harry to have him too. But he doesn’t want to be a one-time thing, a drunken mistake fueled by Harry downing a bottle of wine, getting sad, and needing a warm body. He doesn’t think he could handle it, not after waiting this long - not with what Harry means to him. 

Harry senses his hesitation, growing impatient, because, why aren’t they naked yet? “Off off off,” he chants, like a disgruntled toddler asking for more food, or a few more minutes of sleep.

“And - for - the - record,” Harry punctuates each word with a kiss, “m’not drunk. Bottle barely had anything in it when I picked it up.” Louis breathes a sigh of relief, all hesitation gone out the window, and sends a little prayer up to whoever’s responsible for making this magnificent creature that’s currently attacking his neck. He also makes a mental note to investigate whether Harry is actually capable of reading his mind. Later.

“Good,” he pants out, moaning when Harry nips at his neck then his ear, “because I wanna fuck you.”

Harry’s lips fall off of Louis’ ear and he groans, hips stuttering against Louis, and - fuck - Louis can feel his hardening cock pressing up against his hip. “And I want you to remember every second of it.” If it’s possible for a human to spontaneously combust, that’s what happens to Harry when he hears Louis’ words, breath hot against his ear.

Louis takes advantage of Harry’s moment of weakness to spin them around and press Harry against the door, facing it this time, with Louis’ hands on his hips and Louis’ hard cock slowly grinding up on his arse, and Harry flush against the door, hips stuttering against it, looking for any kind of friction he can get on his full, aching cock. 

He gets friction in the form of Louis’ fingers teasingly feeling their way forward on his hips, brushing his cock ever so lightly - but still sending a jolt through him - and burrowing themselves under his thin T-shirt. Harry’s abs tense under his fingertips. Louis pulls at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over Harry’s head and tossing it on the pristine floor - a far cry from the laundry-covered floors of Louis’ cluttered bedroom.

Louis’ lips find their way back to Harry’s neck, hands roaming freely across his broad back, skimming across soft skin and hard muscles. He starts kissing his way down Harry’s back, tongue leaving traces on his skin as he makes his way to the swell of Harry’s arse, hands wandering down with him as he goes. He teases his tongue at the edge of Harry’s briefs, where they peek out above his trousers, biting at Harry’s love-handles. 

His hands trail down Harry’s front, down the “V” of his abs and his soft little belly until he rests one on Harry’s hip bone, the other making its way across the rough denim of his black skinny jeans. He loosely wraps his hand around Harry hard cock through the fabric and fuck, he always assumed Harry was big - if his huge ogre hands and long, ET-esque slender fingers were of any indication - but he never thought he’d be _this_ big, and Louis’ not gonna lie, his cock definitely twitches at the thought of feeling Harry stretch his tight arsehole with that monster cock of his. 

But that’s for some other time. Right now, Louis’ got a mission, and that mission is to lay this boy - this beautiful, beautiful boy who’s trusting Louis, who actually _loves_ Louis and who Louis very much loves back - out on the bed and take his time teasing him, opening him up painfully slow and making him beg for more until he comes, then starting all over again.

Ok, they might not make it to the bed _just_ yet, because Louis’ free hand is slowly unbuttoning Harry’s trousers and pulling them down his long legs so teasingly slowly as he mouths and bites at Harry’s arse through the thin fabric of his briefs, but then again, patience has never been Louis’ strong suit.  Harry’s letting out the softest little moans from where his head is burrowed in the nook of his arms, flush to the door, and Louis wants to hear him scream. 

Louis grabs Harry’s plump little arse cheeks, one in each hand, and spreads them to lick a teasing stripe at his hole through his briefs. Harry’s hips buck on a louder gasp and moan. “Louis, get up here - fuck - Louiiiiss” Harry whines as he pushes his arse out farther, back curving obscenely. And really, Louis obviously isn’t doing his job if the boy is coherent enough that he can still form complete sentences.

In one swift move, Louis grabs Harry’s briefs and yanks them down to his knees, then his mouth is on Harry’s skin, nipping at the sensitive skin where his legs end and his bum starts, at the inside of his thighs, leaving tiny little bruises then licking over them, and Harry wants to cry.

Louis kisses and nips his way back to Harry’s arse, spreading his cheeks and giving a tentative little teasing lick at his pink little hole. He can feel Harry tense in anticipation. Louis licks a broad stripe across Harry’s hole and the boy actually squeaks. He spreads Harry’s cheeks wider and just admires the view for a second. He can't believe he gets to be with Harry like this, that he gets to stretch his glorious pink hole on his (alarmingly rapidly) fattening cock. 

Harry whines out a “Louiiiis, why..” at the loss, and Louis shares his thoughts, which only makes Harry whine again, arching his back obscenely, offering himself to the boy behind him.

So Louis obliges, licking Harry out and kissing and sucking at his hole without holding back, this time. Harry is making little mewling sounds and letting out little whimpers that are driving Louis crazy. Louis slides one hand up to rest at the curve of Harry’s back, where it's arched at a ridiculous angle. He pushes down to arch it even more at the same time as he drives his tongue as far as he can into Harry’s arse. Harry bucks and Louis’ hand comes down to smack him hard, which makes him buck again, hissing when his hard, twitching cock brushes against the door in front of him.

Louis can hear Harry breathing loud above him, muttering variations of “fuck” and “Louis" every few seconds, and he smirks against Harry's hole, knowing he’s closer to turning his boy into a babbling, begging mess. He wants to absolutely, positively, wreck him.

He’s got his tongue pointed, sliding in and out of Harry’s tight hole, going deeper and deeper. Harry’s hand comes down from where it’s braced against the door and he wraps his long fingers in Louis’ hair, fucking back against his tongue. “More, Lou - Louis, need more.”

And who the fuck is Louis to deny him? Louis slowly slides his pointer finger from Harry’s balls to his pink hole and sucks at his rim as he slowly pushes his finger inside Harry. Harry’s hole is spit-slick from Louis’ mouth, but there’s still that perfect burn as Louis’ finger slides, knuckle by knuckle, across Harry’s smooth walls. Harry lets out a long, drawn out moan until Louis’ finger is to the last knuckle. Louis barely has time to pump his finger in and out of Harry’s arse a couple of times before Harry is begging for another.

“Need to stretch you properly babe, don’t wanna hurt you," he hums against Harry’s arse.

“Lou, p-please. Like the - uh fuck - like the pain.”

Louis’ cock twitches in his pants; this boy is going to be the death of him.

“Fuck. L-lube Harry, where is it, need..”

Harry reaches to his side, digs through a bag by his door, and produces a bottle of lube in probably under one second, and Louis is definitely a fan of the enthusiasm, and he tells Harry that much.

“Louis shut up and fuck m-oh!”

Harry doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Louis slides three of his slicked up fingers into Harry’s hole at once, and the stretch feels so good.

“Fuck, H, so.. so tight.”

Harry loves the burn, the feeling of Louis filling him up and stretching him. Harry barely has time to get used to the sensation before Louis curls his fingers and hits a spot that has Harry screaming and seeing stars. “AH, fuck Louis, there, yes, fuck!” The angle has Harry screaming, repeating the words like a mantra. “Fuck, L-Lou, not gonna, last.”

At that, Louis starts fucking into Harry even harder, alternating between tracing along his rim with his tongue and sucking at it, where his fingers are stretching Harry open so good. He can feel Harry tensing around him. He drops his head to lick at Harry's balls while he continues to fuck him with his fingers, and sucks one into his mouth when he feels Harry’s hole clenching so tight around his fingers before he’s coming on a shout, come painting stripes on his bedroom door.

Louis slowly pulls his fingers out of Harry, kissing him tenderly on his bum when he whines at the loss. He stands and turns the boy around slowly, Harry wincing when his bare back hits the come-covered door. Louis kisses him gentle and deep, Harry moaning weakly into his mouth when he tastes himself on Louis’ tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting way too long. I don't think this is much of a cliffhanger, but for anyone who really doesn't know what happens next, you shall find out in the next chapter! (Spoiler: they fuck).


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much smut.

_ Harry doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Louis slides three of his slicked up fingers into Harry’s hole at once, and the stretch feels so good. _

_ “Fuck, H, so.. so tight.” _

_ Harry loves the burn, the feeling of Louis filling him up and stretching him. Harry barely has time to get used to the sensation before Louis curls his fingers and hits a spot that has Harry screaming and seeing stars. “AH, fuck Louis, there, yes, fuck!” The angle has Harry screaming, repeating the words like a mantra. “Fuck, L-Lou, not gonna, last.” _

_ At that, Louis starts fucking into Harry even harder, alternating between tracing along his rim with his tongue and sucking at it, where his fingers are stretching Harry open so good. He can feel Harry tensing around him. He drops his head to lick at Harry's balls while he continues to fuck him with his fingers, and sucks one into his mouth when he feels Harry’s hole clenching so tight around his fingers before he’s coming on a shout, come painting stripes on his bedroom door. _

_ Louis slowly pulls his fingers out of Harry, kissing him tenderly on his bum when he whines at the loss. He stands and turns the boy around slowly, Harry wincing when his bare back hits the come-covered door. Louis kisses him gentle and deep, Harry moaning weakly into his mouth when he tastes himself on Louis’ tongue. _

\---

Tasting himself on Louis must do something to Harry, because before Louis knows it, Harry is all but ripping the shirt off of Louis and spinning him around dizzyingly fast, so that Louis’ back is pressed up against the door, still sticky with Harry’s come. 

Before Louis can complain, Harry yanks his pants and briefs down to his knees in one swift move, and his mouth is on Louis’ cock. And holy shit, _Harry’s mouth_ is _on Louis’ cock_.

Louis’ eyes are shut and he’s pretty sure he gave himself a concussion just now when he slammed his head back into the door at the sensation of Harry’s lips wrapping around him. He slowly opens his eyes to look down at the boy and yup, definitely a concussion, because there is no way this is happening. Harry’s got his plump pink lips around Louis’ rock-hard cock and is taking him deeper and deeper, lips stretching obscenely around him, all while looking straight up at Louis unwaveringly through his lashes, and Louis is pretty sure he's a) going to die or b) is already dead.

Louis chokes out a few swear words as he feels himself hitting the back of Harry's throat, but Harry doesn’t stop. It is impossibly hot and tight, and Louis is going to pass out, because Harry is still sliding down his hard cock, and holy shit - his nose is ticking the little hairs on Louis' belly and Louis can’t breathe. But then Harry pulls halfway off of Louis’ cock and stills, his hands behind his back where he’s kneeling in front of Louis. He looks up at Louis, and Louis is confused. At that, Harry rolls his eyes - he fucking _rolls his eyes_ with Louis' cock halfway in his mouth - and brings his hands up to grab Louis’ arse. He grabs his arse roughly and pushes him forward, toward him, until his cock is all the way down his throat and he’s making tiny choking sounds around it. He repeats the movement a couple of times then stills, returning his hands behind his back and looking up at Louis expectantly.

And oh - fuck. Harry wants Louis to fuck his mouth. Louis has to wrap his hand around the base of his cock to stop himself from coming right then and there.

Once he takes a couple of deep breaths and is fairly certain he's not going to blow his load faster than a teenager after prom, Louis obliges - because again, really, who is he to deny this boy?

Louis roughly tangles his hand in Harry’s curls, tugging his head back so that Harry’s looking at him, and Harry moans around Louis’ cock at the dull pain. Louis has to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself, because Harry is pulling his head away from Louis’ hand, effectively both choking himself on Louis’ cock _and_ making Louis pull his hair harder, and Louis thinks that’s the hottest think he’s ever seen. Louis opens his eyes, drawing his hips back a little, then slams into Harry’s hot mouth.

Harry chokes a little around him - Louis isn’t exactly small - but his eyes beg Louis to keep going. Louis, having started off slowly, speeds up, slamming his hard cock into Harry’s throat using his hair to hold him in place. Harry’s eyes are watering and he’s making these tiny little noises as he chokes on Louis’ cock, but he hasn’t stopped looking straight up at Louis through his pretty wet lashes.

Louis is embarrassingly close to coming down Harry’s throat, but he has different plans for tonight. He uses Harry’s hair to pull him completely off his cock and Harry takes a huge gulping breath, as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

Harry is still loudly gulping in air, chest heaving, looking like an utter wreck with his hair messy and lips swollen and red when Louis yanks him by the hair to get him to stand and starts walking him backwards to the bed. Harry’s ridiculous giraffe legs are shaking so hard he looks like baby Bambi taking his first steps, and Louis can’t wait to wreck him.

When Harry’s knees hit the bed, he falls back bonelessly, all loose and pliant from his last orgasm, but Louis can see his cock fattening up again, almost fully hard against his protruding hip bones. Louis groans at the sight of the boy spread out in front of him, all warm and pliant - the thought that he did this to Harry is enough to have his already painfully throbbing cock twitch against his belly. He climbs on top of Harry, pushing him back so they’re in the middle of his soft bed. Louis runs his fingers from Harry’s ankles to his hips, reveling in the feel of his soft skin and bringing his legs up so his feet lay flat on the mattress with his knees bent so Louis can kneel between them.

He leans down over Harry, forearms framing his face against the mattress and kisses him. He kisses him with everything he’s got. It’s slow, and tender, and simple, but it carries so much. This moment is so important, so much bigger than them, and they both know it. They hope - they _know_ \- that twenty years from now, when they look back at the moment they truly, madly, deeply fell in love, this would be it. He kisses the boy until they’re both out of breath, telling each other with their lips and their tongues the things they don’t know how to - can’t - say with words, because there _are_ no words.

They pull back, resting their foreheads together, eyes closed, just breathing together. 

“Need you.”

Harry whispers it in the tiniest little voice, his voice completely shot from taking Louis’ cock down his throat, and Louis knows he’s going to give him what he wants - has to give him what he wants.

“Ok,” Louis whispers back, kissing Harry’s still-moist eyelids one at a time, then the tip of his little nose as the boy writhes beneath him, trying to get any kind of friction. “Ok H, I’ve got you.” And Louis knows he sounds broken too, that his voice cracks a little, sounds a little wetter than usual, but he doesn’t care. Everything is Harry, and that’s all that matters.

Louis leaves tiny feather-light kisses all over Harry’s overheated face and flushed cheeks until the boy somewhat calms down, body stilling, breath coming a little more naturally. He continues kissing his eyelids, his nose, the corners of his mouth, as he teases at Harry’s hole with the tip of his leaking cock. Harry’s breath hitches. “Condoms, beautiful?”

“No. Want to feel you.” Harry says it so innocently, big eyes looking up at Louis so open, trusting, and honest, and Louis is completely overwhelmed. He bites his lip to stifle the moan that threatens to spill out of his mouth at seeing Harry so open and ready for him, hips stuttering forward the tiniest bit and his hard, leaking tip catching on Harry’s rim.

Harry lets out a moan worthy of the filthiest porn star, sounding as though he’s being pounded mercilessly into the mattress at the slightest little catch of Louis’ head on his rim. Louis can feel the boy practically shaking under him, eyes now clenched tight.

Louis reaches for the lube where it landed in a pile of clothes - thankfully within arm’s reach, because he doesn’t think he could’ve done it otherwise - and pours some into one hand, tossing the bottle off to the side once again. Harry doesn’t even stir at the sound. His eyes are closed and head thrown back, and he’s breathing like he’d been underwater his whole life and has just come up for breath.

The sight is too much for Louis. He wraps one hand around the base of his cock while he uses the other to work lube up and down his length. He honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to make it more than thirty seconds without coming given that he’s already almost blown his load at least a half dozen times just seeing Harry’s flushed chest and leaking hard (massive) cock, and hearing the sounds he makes. But he’s going to make this good for Harry - has to make this good for Harry.

Louis takes a deep breath and leans over Harry again, leaning on one forearm braced by the boy’s face, the other hand lining his throbbing cock up with Harry’s stretched hole.

“Look at me, Harry.” He opens his eyes and Louis is once again drowning in green.

“I love you, Harry Styles.”

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson.”

It’s the first full sentence Harry has made in what feels like hours.

Louis kisses Harry as he slowly slides into him, and it feels like the most honest thing he has ever done.

Louis slides into him as slow as he can, eyes locked with Harry’s, his breathing slow and controlled, watching the boy’s face for any hint of hurt or discomfort. Harry is unbelievably hot and tight around Louis - even after taking three fingers - and Louis can’t breathe. Harry has his head thrown back and Louis can tell it’s taking all he’s got to keep his eyes open and on Louis.

“Y-you’re shaking,” Harry manages, sounding incredulous, voice tight. Louis digs his head into Harry’s collarbone and actually giggles like they’re teenagers fucking for the first time. It feels like they are. Louis’ palms are sweaty and he’s got butterflies, and they can’t stop looking at each other like they’re memorizing every tiny detail, afraid the moment will disappear. But it doesn’t.

Louis is about three-quarters of the way in when he stills, mostly to give Harry time to adjust, but also to give himself time to adjust, because, fuck. This boy will be the death of him. He burrows his head in Harry’s neck, teasing and nipping at his oversensitive skin while he waits patiently.

“Feel so, uh-L-Lou, feel so full. S-so good,” Harry whispers like a secret, between little moans.

“So tight, Harry,” Louis grits out from where he’s distracting himself from the tight heat around him by leaving little tooth marks all over Harry’s neck.

“Move. Y-you can..ifyouwantto.”

Louis pulls out until just his tip is still in Harry, and smoothly drives back halfway into Harry. He repeats the movement a few times until he hears Harry huff out a breath under him and feels Harry’s legs wrap around his body, heels digging into his back. Harry uses his legs around Louis to yank him toward him, forcing him the rest of the way in, basically impaling himself on Louis’ cock, and Louis is seeing stars. He hasn’t even started moving and he’s already panting into Harry’s mouth.

“M’not gonna break, you know. Now please _fuck me_.”

Louis doesn’t need to be told twice. Before Harry can even properly finish his sentence, Louis pulls out almost completely and starts slamming into the boy under him, setting a brutal pace, and Harry’s eyes roll back.

Without so much as slowing down, Louis roughly grabs Harry’s legs, untangling them from around his torso and hiking them up onto his shoulders, manhandling him into position and deepening the angle.

Louis is punching little “uh”s and “ah”s out of Harry with every snap of his hips, and Harry’s head is thrown back, vision blank except for the bright little stars he’s seeing.

Louis leans down to meet Harry’s lips, essentially folding the boy in half, but Harry lets out a scream at the change in angle. Louis pulls the boy’s bottom lip between his teeth, fucking into him in earnest.

“YEs, fucking uh, Lou, please please, please.” Harry is a babbling mess, screaming under Louis, hands scrambling for purchase, nails scratching deep into Louis’ back.

Louis starts thrusting into Harry impossibly faster, cock hitting that sweet spot on every thrust, and Harry is a wreck. Tears are threatening to spill from the corners of Harry’s eyes, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so good.

Harry is shaking under Louis, just repeating a mantra of “please please please”s interrupted by loud half-moans half-screams every time Louis hits his spot.

“Please what? What do you want Harry?”

The boy just keeps shaking and moaning half-words and “please”s under Louis. Louis’ muscles are burning with the effort but he keeps thrusting into Harry at a punishing pace, feeling a familiar heat coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“You wanna come Harry? Is that what you want? Think you can come from just my cock?”

Harry lets out a loud sob as Louis hits his spot again, feeling like his whole body is on fire from the need to come, and his tears are spilling freely now. It takes everything he’s got to focus his eyes on Louis through the pain-pleasure and the tears, but he locks eyes with the boy pounding into him and frantically nods his head, screaming “YEs, yes” as Louis nails his prostate again. Harry is looking at him with such intensity that Louis feels like he’s going to explode.

“Come for me, baby,” Louis pants out as he continues to drive his hips into Harry, the slap of skin on skin mixing with the sound of their breathing.

At that, Harry’s eyes screw shut and his back arches completely off the bed. His mouth opens in a silent scream, then a scream is ripped from his throat, loud and guttural as he comes untouched, cock twitching as it paints his chest and chin and Louis’ chest with streaks of white.

Louis feels Harry’s orgasm ripple through him as Harry’s hole clenches impossibly tight around Louis, and before Harry’s even done coming, Louis’ vision goes blank and his own orgasm comes crashing through him too as he stills, buried deep in Harry, hips twitching as he releases his load in Harry. He feels like he’s coming for hours, then he collapses onto the boy under him, cock still buried deep in his still-twitching hole.

They lay that way for a while, not seeming to be able to catch their breaths, bodies still shivering and twitching with the aftershocks of their orgasms. When Louis finally starts to come down enough that he remembers his own name, he pulls out of Harry carefully, rolling his body so that he’s only halfway on top of the boy, his head resting on Harry’s rapidly rising and falling chest.

Harry lets out an involuntary whine at the loss, so Louis trails his hand to Harry’s oversensitive hole, circling two fingers around it before he slides them in, his own come slicking the way. Harry bucks at the sensation, his fucked-out hole feeling raw and overstimulated.

Louis fucks his fingers into Harry slowly and gently a couple of times, massaging his walls, before pulling them out. He looks down from where he’s resting boneless on Harry’s chest, too spent to even lift his head as he watches his own come drip from his fingers onto Harry’s abdomen, mixing with Harry’s come.

He swipes his fingers through the mess on Harry’s stomach and brings them up to his mouth, licking tentatively at them before sucking them into his mouth. He repeats the movements but brings his fingers to Harry’s mouth this time, looking up at him as he taps his come-covered fingers on Harry’s swollen bottom lip. Harry opens up for him, taking his fingers into his mouth and moaning around them as he uses his tongue to lick Louis clean of their come.

Louis draws his fingers out of Harry’s mouth, hooking them under his chin and pulling him closer as he goes to meet his lips for a kiss. They both melt into the kiss, lips dancing on lips and tongues lazily licking into mouths, sighing content little noises into each others’ lips.

They fall asleep like this, naked and covered in come, wordless, lulled to sleep by each others’ steadying heartbeats synchronizing to the beat of “I love you”, “I promise”, and “always.”


End file.
